


Neighbors

by tatou



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Aster is Gatsby Jack is Nick Ana is Daisy, Gen, may write more for this, wheee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatou/pseuds/tatou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This new neighbor with his innocent little smiles and bashful demeanor both demanded and repelled attention so curiously that even if he hadn't had a connection to Ana he might still have approached him and made his acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> If I didn't have four other fics in progress right now I'd get right to work on this one. I may add more later, but for now this will stay a oneshot.

He could feel it like a cracked stone fist curled round his heart, the fingers decaying and falling loose one by one like a cascade of diamonds from a chandelier. Losing interest in something that had been so permanently affixed to him for years was startling, like waking up one day and looking in the mirror to find that the birthmark he’d always seen on his upper cheek had somehow always been to the left of his mouth instead.

It had been for so long his nature to obsess: first over a new life away from his family and poverty, over money and a life with Ana, and now, Jack. This new neighbor with his innocent little smile and bashful demeanor both demanded and repelled attention so curiously that even if he hadn’t had a connection to Ana he might still have approached him and made his acquaintance.

Aster had watched him since he’d first moved in, and what had drawn his interest was the way Jack had almost always seemed aware of it. He hadn’t noticed the first few months, but soon afterward he’d begun glancing curiously up towards Aster’s own windows, his eyes flickering past the thick trees that surrounded his home. Their eyes had met that first time, and Aster had been struck at how easily those blue eyes had found him, like Jack had known all along where he’d been, watching and waiting.

Aster often wondered what was to become of all this. Ana was here, and he was still dedicated to having her at last, but then there was this  _Jack_  that had moved in next door, living now in the shambling little cottage next door. From what he had found out, he knew that Jack aspired to be a writer and scraped up a living working in Wall Street. He knew for a fact that Jack had never showed up to a party, and out of interest and his blooming plan he sent the invitation, knowing full well that such a polite man wouldn’t show up without one.

When he’d arrived, he’d barely noticed it was Aster he was speaking to there, and really, he couldn’t have been blamed. He had been a bad neighbor, never introducing himself or making himself known until that very day and making the poor boy seem a fool (although this aloofness had proved useful, as he’d been able to observe Jack from afar and learning his habits- at least, the ones that could be seen).

He liked the bright youthfulness in his eyes and the way he seemed attentive on every word that fell off his tongue, and the way he seemed so hopeful for his future and for the well-being of everyone else. He was sweet and charmingly naive, and what could Aster have done but offer him his best smile and a raise of his glass? He’d always been so easily been besotted by the simplest things, and it only furthered his delight to later find out that Jack was by no means simple.

Jack seemed to understand. Jack was a rare, kindred spirit, and Aster knew then he had found himself not only a friend, but a strange interest in him as well. He found it interesting to study the boy, watch his reactions and interactions and silently note it all down in his mind. He’d learn further on that the obsession had come earlier on than that, and that choosing was as difficult as maintaining his lies and smiles had been in his first years and sometimes still was today.

But if anyone was worth it, it was Jack.

He began keeping the boy (not even a boy; they were close in age but still he seemed so young, inexperienced to the cruel and opportunistic world around him) around him as often as he could, taking him for drives and swims and tea and lunch and strolls round his property.

The thought that Jack might be wary or suspicious of him troubled Aster: he would not lose so new and interesting a friend so quickly. When he became sure that Jack’s earnest helpfulness and loyalty were just that: earnest and innocent, he unfolded the truths of his life like a worn map of faded stars and, like a skilled stellar cartographer, pulled and connected them all seamlessly until they could have formed the largest constellation known to man.

Jack, now aware of the great and mysterious E. Aster Bunnymund’s true origins, didn’t seem bothered in the least, and for that Aster was glad. He’d only listened attentively, sometimes frowning, but at the end of it all he’d offered a simple smile and a promise of secret-keeping, all of which had worked marvelously to soother Aster’s nerves.

He’d squeezed the younger male’s shoulder and offered him a tumbler of vodka, not even bothering to hide the enormously relieved smile on his face.

He was not in the habit of collecting people, but Jack was a rare thing in a city such as theirs, and to let that potential slip through his fingers would be a terrible, terrible waste. Aster took care to surround himself with only a worthy few, and Jack was better than most of them combined. He’d make a notable addition.

He’d see to it that his new friend would be cared for.

                                                                                            “““

Jack had never met so interesting a man as E. Aster Bunnymund: famed party-thrower, war-hero and (at first) elusive millionaire of West Egg, next door. Never before had he been so intrigued by another person, and perhaps that ought to have been a warning sign.

He was enigmatic, worldly, grandiose, careful with his words and moreso with the expressions on his face when he could master the bright hope that sometimes came spilling from that white-teethed smile. He enthralled Jack and so did the oddities that surrounded him. 

He savored every moment he spent with Aster: each was stranger and more revealing than the next, all slowly chipping away at the mystery of him. Every word the man uttered he did his best to pull apart until he thought he had found the bare bones of them and studied them as a proper writer would. In this way he did resemble Aster, in that he treasured something so much that he thought obsessively over it many nights and many days in much the same way (and also incredibly unalike) the way Aster thought of Ana.

He was magnetic, pulling Jack’s attention to his every motion and beckon, and even if he not been called or sent for, Jack always found himself at that great decorated door, always found himself graciously let in and led straight to Bunnymund.

Aster.

The mystery man of New York, throwing parties so lavish and extreme that they wound up in the newspapers from even outside the city. Eyes like the fine-cut grass that surrounded his home and hair so smooth and auburn, always slicked back with those few locks that strayed to his forehead to accidentally further his good looks. What secrets he kept were known to few, and sometimes when Jack thought and wondered on why he had been allowed to know he felt almost humbled and at times frightened that he should be aware of things so shrouded in secrecy to all others.

He was a magnet, he was a mirror, he was that brilliant flare of a match hitting a lake of gasoline. He was there and then he was not, he was deduced and gutted and then he was coiled again, once again hidden in some secret he had managed to keep close to him. Jack wasn’t sure he always understood what drove this man.

Some days it didn’t matter at all.

When Aster grew excited in their conversations he lit up from the eyes, waved his hands about and cupped Jack by the cheeks, brought him close and, once, left an excited kiss on his lips. In the heat of his happiness at a good day gone by he’d speak with such animation that Jack clung to every word, just as hooked as he hoped to one day have whatever readers he might have. These touches were rare, but when they came flashing by Jack was always left stunned, amazed that someone who had been blown up by the papers and gossip to be proud and distant could actually be so normal, so excitable and giddy by the most mundane things.

That was perhaps what called him most to Aster. Of all the wealthy and powerful people Jack had seen, Aster was perhaps the first he had seen to successfully retain a sense of normalcy. He liked that in him, and while that seemed regular enough, it failed to clue him in entirely.


End file.
